


Fishy Business

by Gladrial



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flashbacks, High School, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladrial/pseuds/Gladrial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never was a fan of seafood and this certainly didn't help things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: RisqueSno
> 
> Spoilers: References events from a major Joker storyline.
> 
> Author Notes: This is an idea I wanted to play with referencing one of the more pivotal Joker stories and in keeping with comic (not animated) canon, with the exception of ignoring the brief glimpse we’ve had into Harley’s family by inserting my own version. Daddy issues, ahoy!

“Harleen Quinzel!  This is your last wake-up call before I drag you to school in your pajamas!  Don’t think I won’t!” her mother demanded, apparently for the last time…though Harley was pretty sure she had said as much the time previous.

She groaned into her pillow, being mostly awake anyway.  Her real reason for not wanting to get out of bed lay more in what she knew the day had in store for her.  She forced herself to her feet and dragged them wearily to her bedroom door. 

“Mom!” she shouted from the doorframe.  “Can’t I just stay home today?!”

“You most certainly cannot!” her mother answered, unequivocally.  “Now, come get your breakfast before you run out of time to eat.”

It was her usual routine to dress before breakfast, but on this occasion Harley thought there wouldn’t be any need if she played her cards right.  She shuffled down to the kitchen, noting how spic-and-span everything was.  Her mother typically preferred things neat and organized but today everything looked positively pristine.  She regarded multiple, tiny reflections of herself in the shining blue-tiled countertop and sighed heavily, knowing the reason behind its polished surface.

She glanced at her mother briefly, who was sitting at the kitchenette enjoying her second cup of coffee following breakfast, as Harley knew to be her custom.  Typically, this would be accompanied by her daily reading of the Gotham Gazette, but today she stared stone-faced at a fixed spot on the wall in front of her.  Harley knew why and remembered a time when the look on her face used to be wistful.

Harley forced a smile on her face and began needling her mother cautiously as she poured herself a bowl of cereal.  “Mom, me skipping a day wouldn’t be the end of the world.”  She joined her mother at the kitchen table. 

“You’re not skipping school,” she replied flatly, still staring into nothingness.

“But Mooom-,” Harley whined sweetly.  “You already said I have to skip practice after school today.  What’s the point?”

“You have an algebra test today!” her mother snapped harshly.  “School isn’t about you performing ridiculous acrobatics!  Do you remember your math grade last quarter?  I do!”

Harley angrily abandoned her bowl, barely touched, to jump in the shower.  She briefly fooled herself into thinking this would punish her mother somehow, but ultimately knew she was preoccupied with other things. 

Her mother typically encouraged her athletics and nearly made every event she had ever competed in.  Knowing this, Harley knew she should be more understanding.  However, she had been more preoccupied with the fact that her pitiful act wasn’t having the same effect on her mother as it used to.  There was a time, not too long ago, that if she batted her eyes in just the right way and put just the right amount of whine in her voice, she would usually get her way.  It had, of late, become exponentially ineffective, whether because of her mother’s growing stress or because she was getting older, Harley wasn’t sure.

 _Probably a combination of the two_ , Harley decided.  She was, after all, sixteen. 

She pulled a Gotham High Gym Squad t-shirt over her head, accompanied by a pair of bleached jeans.  She brushed her hair and swooped it in a quick ponytail, hoping that it would dry quickly.  Having left herself little time, she applied the bare minimum she felt she could get away with in terms of make-up.

“Molly showed up while you were in the shower,” her mother informed her, as Harley scooped up the backpack lying next to the door.  “I didn’t want her to be late to school so I told her to go on without you.  Do you need me to take you or can-”

“I’ll catch the bus,” Harley replied sullenly, walking out the door, hoping to garnish her mother’s sympathy. Every other sophmore in her circle caught a ride or drove. She hadn’t ridden the bus since middle school!

“Don’t forget,” her mother called after her,“I’ll be picking you up after school today.”                             

“I know, Mom!” Harley grumped without looking back, slinging her backpack angrily over one arm.

Harley knew it would have been in everyone’s best interest if she had stayed home…that and she had _really_ wanted to.  School without the prospect of gymnastics was just…school.  But still, she knew her mother would have benefited from her presence today.  It would have helped keep her in a positive frame of mind. 

 _Well, positive might be a bit of stretch_ , Harley admitted to herself, bouncing quietly in the polyvinyl seat on the way to school, not in the mood for company.  _But not as suicidal._  

Harley’s eyes went wide at the thought.  It wasn’t one she had considered before and not one she had meant seriously.  It was just something one said to reference depression.  Rationally, she knew her mother to not be the type to do such a thing, but now that the thought was there, it threatened to haunt her.

Harley drifted through school that day, as she knew she would.  Another reason she might as well have stayed home.  Like her mother, her mind was too preoccupied to focus on her day-to-day activities at school.  Most of her friends noticed a change in her demeanor, but after assuring them she was fine, went about their day as though she were being genuine, as self-involved teenagers had a tendency to do.

Her inability to focus certainly didn’t help Harley during her algebra test, the very reason her mother was so keen she went to school.  Not that she would have likely aced it anyway, but she would have done better to make it up.  Any day other than today.

The day finallyfinished, she awaited her mother’s arrival.  She started off trying to make small talk with some friends also waiting for their rides, but as the crowd thinnedshe realized her mother was running late and solemnly sat herself on the curb in front of the school.

When her mother finally pulled up, Harley had to admit that she was happy to see her, recalling her morbid thoughts that morning.  “Hi, mom!” Harley enthused, unwittingly with a wide smile.  It seemed enough to temporarily jar her mother out of the grim mood she’d certainly been carrying all day.

“Hi, sugar,” she responded, giving her a brief hug before pulling the car back onto the main road.  “Have a good day at school?  How was the test?”

“Ummm…,” Harley hummed, crestfallen.

“Don’t worry about it.  Your ‘ol Mom certainly wasn’t a math whiz either,” she encouraged.  “Besides, you’ll have no problem picking a school of your choice with your…” she drifted off, remembering their conversation that morning.  “Sugar, I didn’t mean what I said this morning about-“

“I know, Mom.  I know,” Harley whispered, both of them remembering why they were in such sour spirits moments ago.

“We’re going to have to make a detour to the grocery store,” her mother informed her.  “I didn’t get a chance to go today, tidying up around the house.”

“There’s plenty of food at home, Mom,” Harley insisted.  “Why do we have to?“

“Because, Harley,” her mother began, clenching the steering wheel.  “Your father is coming and I’m going to make him feel welcome with a nice dinner.”

Harley sucked her teethand sneered with disgust.

“You have a problem with that?” her mother asked, knowingly provoking a confrontation.

Boy, did she ever and had for a long time.  She had kept her mouth closed about it for years aside from random snide comments that were always met with a swift reprimand.  This taught her that she was not allowed to voice any negative opinion of her father, nor her parent’s relationship, which was her main point of annoyance.

At a young age, she knew her home life wasn’t exactly like the other kids.  Her childhood friends saw their fathers everyday if their parents were still together.  If not, they saw their fathers on the weekends, holidays, and summers.  There was the odd child here or there who had a father that didn’t have much to do with them, but even that made sense as an accepted societal norm.  Her family fit none of these understood stereotypes.

Her father came and went constantly throughout her life.  Business kept him traveling all over the world.  What business, she was never quite sure.  When she was young, how a roof was kept over her head, how her belly was full, how she acquired her mountain of toyswas unimportant to her, so long as she went without want.  Later, when she should have become curious about what her father did for a living, tension was so high in her home that it ultimately seemed unimportant.  And the older she got, the more frequent and longer his ‘business trips’ became.

She remembered her early elementary school years, when her father’s returns were met with great anticipation and joy.  Her mother went about making the house perfect and she lay on her carpet with a pad of paper, surrounded by an assortment of crayons and markers, in order to make her father a plethora of personalized artwork that he always praised and placed lovingly in his briefcase to take with him on his travels.

Those early years were spent with her father doting over his adorable daughter with trips to ice cream parlors, the zoo, carnivals and the like with her hoisted on his shoulders.  _Daddy Days_ , she had called them and they were among her favorite childhood memories, back when nothing was too good for daddy’s little girl and her mother always wore a smile. 

Back then, her family felt complete, whole.  It didn’t matter that her family was different than the others.  It didn’t matter that they knew some of the neighbors talked behind their backs, suggesting her father was up to no good when away.  It didn’t matter that others assumed that he had another woman (if not multiple women) on the side when he was away.  It didn’t matter…until it turned out to be true.

By the time Harley had hit the fourth grade, her father’s doting ways had lessened quite a bit.  She blamed herself for a long time as she had started her awkward phase.  Her knob-knee legs were long and gangly.  Her torso was out of proportion with her longer limbs.  While this helped her gymnastics, she wasn’t as cute as she used to be.

His visits no longer brought expectations of fun and family bonding.  Instead, it seemed to bring her mother stress and a deep depression.  Even though her father was present, he seemed colder…as though his arrival home was an ordeal he was being forced to endure with a fake smile.

As she entered middle school, she realized the reason behind the tension at home stretched beyond herself.  Her parent’s relationship was falling apart, had fallen apart, without her knowledge.  They tried to keep her shielded,but she overheard a conversation with the ever dreaded word: divorce.  She thought it strange that it didn’t bother her as much as it should have.  In fact, it would have made sense.  Her parents weren’t happy and all her friends that had suffered their parents divorcing only saw their fathers occasionally anyway.  But her mother had insisted that they kept up this guise until Harley had gone to college. 

Later this arrangement made even less sense as she overheard loud, heated arguments about his ‘other family’.  While her mother seemed to have tolerated his random philandering with tense, stoic poise, the idea of him truly becoming involved with another woman and her children she thought in poor taste.  He had again broached the subject of divorce and she still guilted him into staying in their ‘marriage’ until their daughter had grown. 

Harley couldn’t see how this arrangement benefited her in the slightest, but could list many reasons why it was detrimental to all involved.  It had all but killed her relationship with her father.  Forced to put on this show for his daughter’s sake took its toll and he resented it, and, by association, began to resent her.  As a result, she rarely ever saw him anymore and the few times she did were brief and tense.  But she knew that broaching the subject with her mother was forbidden. 

At the end of the day, Harley was angry.  Angry that her father didn’t respect her mother enoughto have treated her right to begin with.  Angry that her mother wouldn’t let what couldn’t be fixed go.  And mostly angry that she was stuck in the middle.

Knowing this, she responded to her mother’s fueled question by saying, “No, mother.  Why would I have a problem?”  It was a response full of malice that she didn’t bother to hide, but her mother chose to ignore the tone, in keeping with the disguise of a happyfamily get-together **.** Instead, they both seethed in silence until the car had parked at the grocery store.

“What are we getting?” Harley forced herself to ask.  She hadn’t been able to eat much that day and was ready to pretend she was okay long enough to endure a meal. 

“I’m making pecan-crusted tilapia,” her mother informed her, as though if she acted like it weren’t an issue, it wouldn’t become one.

Harley, already in a foul mood, looked aghast.  “I hate fish!  You know I hate seafood!” she protested, not caring how childish she sounded even though they were entering a public place.

The sliding doors closed silently behind them.  The florescent lights above made the stress-induced bags under her mother’s eyes look all the darker in comparison.

“I’m not doing this with you, Harley.  Not now,” she replied with a quiet, deep calm.  “Besides, your father loves my pecan-crusted tilapia.” 

Harley scowled and sulked behind the squeaking wheels of the shopping cart her mother was pushing toward the meat section.  When they arrived to the seafood section it was clear something was amiss.  Very amiss. 

“Where’s the tilapia?” her mother inquired to a stout man wearing an apron, setting out freshly wrapped cuts of beef.

But it wasn’t just the tilapia that was missing.  There wasn’t any fish to be found, nor, for that matter, anything that resembled seafood.  Crab, scallops, shrimp: all gone.  If it had ever touched water, it was no longer on the shelf.

Harley was happy that it seemed her mother would be forced to make something edible for her after all, but found it curious all the same.

The man in the apron looked bewildered at her mother’s question.  “Haven’t you heard?” he asked in astonishment and was clearly delighted at the prospect of sharing this information on virgin ears.  “You’ll be lucky to find anything wearing a fin in the whole damn city!” he enthused, before covering his mouth quickly and looking around to see if his manager had overheard his slip of the tongue.  “Pardon my French,” he added hastily.

Her mother was far too worried about this inconvenience for her to care about an errant curse, and far too stressed not to let loose with one of her own.  “Well, why the hell not?” she demanded.

“Wait right here,” the man instructed excitedly.  “I’ll show ya.”  He disappeared behind a pair of swinging doors where the meat was cut, weighed, and wrapped. 

Harley hugged herself in order to warm her arms from the surrounding freezers as they waited for his to return, while her mother tapped her foot impatiently. 

When he reemerged from the back he was holding a cut of meat wrapped in brown paper and beckoned them to come closer.

“There aren’t many left,” he whispered.  “Some are being collected by police for evidence, though I haven’t seen any of ‘em here.  Most are being destroyed.”  He removed the wrapper and presented a fish with a sickly pallor and an unnatural stretching of the face that spread **it’s** pout into an unnerving and unnatural grin.

“They’re all over the city,” the man explained at their gasps.

“But-but how?” Harley managed to get out, her mother still stuck with shocked expression on her face.

“The Joker,” the man answered ominously.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was entirely possible that he had never been this bored in his life, which was saying something because he had spent multiple long stretches of time in complete isolation with only his thoughts to occupy him.

_But then again,_ he decided amidst the drone of the woman before him, _my thoughts are rather entertaining._

The Joker had been toying with this new doctor of his for some time now.  He wondered if it had been for a long enough time that he could no longer consider her ‘new’.  But she looked new, young and fresh out of the university with a look of optimism in her eyes. 

_What were they thinking, throwing her to me_ , he mused for about the umpteenth time.

A part of him thought it had to be some kind of trick and they were watching expectantly for him to act as they assumed he would toward her…so he didn’t, just for kicks.  In doing so, he thought of some truly unique ways to torment her and felt she was worth hanging on to for them to reach their fruition.  But he was really beginning to question that decision today.

The Joker had cleverly twisted a session meant for him into a session for her and had spent the last half hour strapped to a reclining couch and listening to her ramble on about…hadn’t she told him that she was going to regale him with a story about himself?  He was sure that she had.  Why else would he have agreed to this?  As it was, he heard her talk about getting ready for school and her mother and an impending trip the grocery store of all things. 

He wanted to scream, “WHO THE HELL CARES?!” and then hit her in the throat repeatedly with his fist.  It’d be hard to bore someone to death with a crushed esophagus.

The worst part was thathe had to act genuinely interested.  He’d been playing her like a fiddle and any break in character would destroy months of work at this fragile stage.  …Granted he wasn’t exactly sure what he was really working toward, but he had been at it for too long to just throw it away.  And she had just handed him a plethora of ‘daddy’ issues to work with, but he was beginning to wonder if it was worth all this trouble.  After all, he simply had the wife of his last therapist dismembered and that was some quick, clean fun.

Did she really just describe what her mother was going to make for dinner?  He was nearly sure that his face twitched in his valiant attempt to restrain himself.  Maybe…maybe they threw this Doctor Quinzel at him knowing this would happen.  Maybe this was some new form of therapy.  They’ll call it the ‘boredom method’.  Maybe they just wanted to torture him.  Maybe he had died and this was his hell…

 “So there wasn’t any fish.  Any seafood anywhere,” his doctor prattled on, unaware of her patient’s state of mind.  “And I was really relieved because I hate fish, like I said.”

There had to be a way to make her stop talking and not ruin everything he had built so far.  Other people surely had to deal with things like this as, he assumed, most people enjoyed mutual interaction.  But he wasn’t really good at that.  Never had to be, never wanted to be.  Screw it.  He was just going to strangle her with his straight jacket.  That would be kind of funny.  …Of course, if this was hell there’d just be another one like her waiting for him tomorrow.

“And the guy told us that it was because of you!” Doctor Quinzel enthused, finally reaching her point.

“Because of me?” Joker repeated, lost in his own thoughts while expertly starting to shimmy out of his restraints.  “Why would…OH!”  A wide smile stretched across his face as he realized his connection to her tale.  “My fish!”

“Yes!” she encouraged.  “They not only had the recent supply of fish taken off the shelf, but also any seafood that had been there previously.  Gone.  There was some complaint about tuna and crab and the like that had been canned some time ago, claiming you couldn’t have possibly tampered with them.  I guess they just wanted to play it safe.”

 “I didn’t even think about the effect it would have had on the local market aside from cornering it,” he admitted with a chuckle, while briefly wondering how you could get a grin out of any kind of shellfish.  “Did they really get rid of all the seafood?  Didn’t even give my little fishies a chance.  The smiles didn’t change the way they tasted.”

“You ate one?” Harley asked, surprised.

“Of course!” Joker answered.  “How could I put a product on the market with my name on it without making sure it was high quality?”

“I…Everyone assumed they were poisoned,” she explained, somewhat in shock.  “They weren’t?  Why not?”

“How the hell was I going to corner the market on something that killed people?” he returned with a tone that, he hoped, suggested he didn’t think much of her intelligence at the moment.  “I told everyone I was trying to trademark them.  It was all over the news.”

“Everyone thought you were lying!” she continued, still clearly dumbstruck that such a well-known scheme of his was ultimately not intended to kill people.

“Why, I never!” he responded with a wounded look.

“You really thought that you could trademark fish?” Harley remarked, giving him a look of mock condescension from above the rim of her glasses with a tilt of her head.

He shrugged.  “You never know until you give it the ‘ol college try.  Besides, it was-“

“Funny,” Harley finished for him.

“See how well you’ve gotten to know me already?”  He offered her a broad smile.  “My happy fish seemed to serve you well at any rate.”

“Well, yeah,” she admitted.  “We ended up having fettuccini alfredo instead.  But it’s not like you did it with me in mind.”

“Maybe I believe in fate,” he suggested with a look that he’d discovered made her blush.  “Too bad for your father though.”  He caught her sneer slightly with his peripheral vision.

“All the better, I say,” she replied.  “My mother shouldn’t have had to try so hard for someone that didn’t care enough to try back.”

Joker nodded in thoughtful agreement.  “But your parents divorced after you reached adulthood, right?  I imagined that improved your relationship with your father.”

She looked away in painful recollection.  “The last time I saw or even spoke to my father was at my high school graduation.”  She added in scholarly tone, “I think he associated me with imprisonment and, once free, didn’t look back.”

“And you blame this on your mother?” he prompted.

“I see no reason I can’t blame them both,” Harley replied, with the determination associated with someone that arrived at this conclusion long ago.

“I’m not the professional you are,” Joker began complimentarily.  “But I’ve heard you talk a lot today about how your father mistreated your mother.  How he didn’t try hard enough for her or care enough about her.  That you resented being in the middle.  But it seems to me…” he drifted off.  “Ah, but what do I know?  I’m hardly an expert on relationships after all.”

“No, go on!” she encouraged enthusiastically.  “I’d really like to hear your opinion.”  She regarded her notebook as though this was still part of her evaluation of him.  “Your point of view will be most interesting,” she added in keeping with this act.

“Well, if you insist.”  He nearly licked his lips with anticipation.  She had begun to let her guard down around him with increasing frequency of late and, if handled right, he thought he could make another substantial chip in that professional exterior she tried so hard to wear.  “It occurs to me that you may be withholding how your father’s decisions reflect on _you._  Like I said, I’m not a professional, but I have undergone a lot of therapy and spend most of my time around people that either need it or administer it.  I know a thing or two about repression.”

Harley considered this, tilting her head to the side and tapping a pen against her notebook rhythmically.  “What am I supposed to be repressing?” she asked.

“Instead of thinking about your mother, consider yourself,” Joker went on.  “Why didn’t your father try hard enough for _you_?  Why didn’t he care enough about _you_?  His decisions were made without considering your mother, certainly, but they were also made without considering you.  Surely, this has occurred to you at some point, but you didn’t really want to face it and who could blame you.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Harley replied hoarsely.  A sudden,steady stream of quiet tears fell across both cheeks.

_That’s done it!_ he thought triumphantly.  Though what it was he had done he wasn’t quite sure.  He had driven his fair share of doctors to a psychological breakdown, but this was different.  At the breaking point, he’d seen many different responses: violent outbursts, intense shame, unrelenting fear, and one or two had even entered a kind of catatonic state.  He wasn’t sure what to do with her at this point, as she had not responded in any way he was familiar with.  Instead, she seemed to be looking to him to continue, to offer up some kind of guidance, to fill some kind of void.

…He could do that.

“Well, it’s his loss if you ask me,” he offered sweetly.  “Bet he never thought you’d be as successful as you are now.  Hang ‘im, I say.”

“I don’t know if I can dismiss him as easily as he dismissed me,” she sniffed, still trying to hold her head high.

“You’re better than him, Doc,” he continued.  “In fact, you’re too good for him.”

“You really think so?” she nearly begged, as though his opinion mattered more than anyone’s in the world.

“Of course I do,” he soothed.

“M-Maybe,” she stammered.  “Maybe that’s why he abandoned me.  Maybe he couldn’t look me in the eye anymore, knowing how much he failed to measure up.”

“Yeah!” Joker encouraged.  “See, there’s that professional training.  You just needed someone to get you started is all.  I imagine it’s easier to evaluate others than it is to evaluate oneself.” 

The session ended shortly thereafter and, as Joker was escorted out, he caught a look of gratitude from her.  Not exactly something he was accustomed to receiving.  This doctor of his may be more unhinged than he thought.  She seemed to be under the delusion that there was some sort of mutual admiration between the two of them.  He had perpetuated this in the past with some former doctors: put them more at ease, acted as though he wanted the help they could provide, stroked their ego.  This was one of the many diversions he had to create for himself inside Arkham. 

It got especially fun after he figured out their trigger, what button he had to press to elicit the best reaction.  None had made it easier for him than Doctor Harleen Quinzel though, withher trusting nature and naiveté to blame.  Because of this, he assumed he’d find her a bore, but her reactions to everything were so… _unexpected._   In fact, she might be the most interesting of the lot. 

Most of his therapists he viewed as a momentary distraction from the monotony of life behind bars.  He was beginning to wonder if Doctor Quinzel might not prove to serve a much more useful function.


End file.
